


Toothpaste

by Frutavel



Series: Toothpaste [1]
Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence, Eventual Relationships, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Romance, Self-Indulgent, eventual polyamory, gheist tries his best, have fun, it's tyrajin with an oc shoved in the middle, ocxcanon, pure self indulgence, vol'jin gets to be the little spoon for once and tyrathan ends up in a troll sandwich
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-11-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:46:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 18,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25638265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frutavel/pseuds/Frutavel
Summary: The question brings back memories - painful memories involving a witch doctor in his youth, a shaman in his early adult life, and a handful of fleeting exchanges that lead nowhere but stung nonetheless.But not all were bad, and not all were lost in the past. In his mind’s eye, clear as day, Vol'jin saw faded green fur, moss, and red flowers.
Relationships: Tyrathan Khort/Original Character(s), Tyrathan Khort/Vol'jin, Tyrathan Khort/Vol'jin/Original Character(s), Vol'jin (Warcraft)/Original Character(s)
Series: Toothpaste [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1858561
Comments: 12
Kudos: 32





	1. The Introductory Chapter

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [For Better or Worse](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14806898) by [Vandera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vandera/pseuds/Vandera). 



Vol’jin doesn’t let his mind wonder much nowadays.

He can’t afford to, really. The memories of the attempt made on his life still fresh, the what-ifs and what-abouts bouncing around in his head, the fear of looking into his future and not knowing what to expect - they will get to him if he gives them too much attention, he knows they will, and going insane is not something he wants to add to his list of things that went wrong.

So he keeps focused on other things. His recovery is still underway, even if he’s now much better off than he was weeks ago. The Shado-pan gave him chores to complete around the monastery, so he throws himself entirely to them until they’re complete. The monks included him in their training routine recently, so he concentrates on learning and memorizing the movements and exercises introduced to him.

He keeps his mind on the present as much as he can, training, doing chores, occasionally getting lost in the library for an hour or two when he’s not needed. He tries his hardest not to let the uncertainty of his future get to him.

But somethings can’t be avoided. And a single, innocent statement can bring the reality of his situation crashing down upon him.

The human, Tyrathan Khort, proved to be much better company that Vol’jin was willing to admit. After the human’s brush with death in the mountain, and the effort Vol’jin went through to save him from doubt, they had gotten closer, less wary of each other, more trusting.

The human’s company helped keep Vol’jin grounded, and his mind from wandering. Not today.

The man is still in recovery, doing much better now but still weakened. Vol’jin takes to caring for him just as the man had done, until the monks take over or Tyrathan himself dismisses him. They are, as usual, sat across eachother with a jihui board between them, talking.

Said talk today landed on Chen and Yalia, recently departed from the monastery. They were headed to the temple of the White Tiger from what Vol’jin had been told, though he wasn’t sure about the reason, and likely wouldn’t know until the pair returned,

"They're good people." Tyrathan said, shaking a piece out of the wood canister "Good heads, good hearts."

“That they are.” Vol’jin nodded, watching the human arrange his pieces “Chen be a loudmouth sometimes, but he means well.”

“You know him better than I do.” Tyrathan shrugged, pushing the piece to his side of the board “I have a feeling Yalia does too.”

At that, Vol’jin chuckled, getting a smile out of Tyrathan as well.  
“She be lucky. Him too.” The troll shook his head, moving one of his pieces forward “Any who find love in times like these be.”

“Indeed.”

Vol’jin caught something in the way the human’s expression changed and in his tone of voice. They shifted to something sad - almost melancholic - and he knew he’d touched a sore subject.

He decided to push it.

“You be findin' it too." The troll leaned back, looking the human over. Tyrathan was looking pointedly at the jihui board, biting the side of his thumb. He didn’t look particularly nervous, but he did tense up at Vol’jin’s inquiry.

“I did. Some time ago.” The human answered, and Vol’jin could tell he was measuring his words. After a moment in silence, he moved a piece on the board forward so it was facing off against one of Vol’jin’s own, then looked the troll in the eye.

“I’m married. At least I was.” The man sighed, lacing his fingers together “It’s a long story. I’m not going to bother you with it.”

Vol’jin nodded at that. Though he was curious, he knew better than to go where he wasn’t wanted. Plus, he knew, Tyrathan probably wouldn’t elaborate even if he did, not when the safety of his loved ones could be at stake.

The idea of the human not fully trusting him left a bitter taste in Vol’jin’s mouth, for reasons didn’t yet know, but Vol’jin knew better than to think otherwise. They were still barely friends, and even if they were on friendly terms here, there was no guarantee they’d still be when they left the monastery.

A voice whispered in his head.

If you ever leave.

He brushed it off. He had no interest in entertaining the voice - there was no if, just when. Too many people counted on him to come back for him to even consider it.

“What about you?”

Tyrathan’s voice broke him out of his thoughts. It startled him, but he didn’t let it show, instead he looked back at the human in confusion.

“What about me?”

“Have you ever found love?”  


. . . . . . 

Vol’jin was caught off guard. 

He supposed it was fair exchange, but he hadn’t expect it.

He looked at the man for a couple of tense minutes, not saying anything. He had a feeling Tyrathan might have had regret asking, but there was no reason for him to be.

Even if the question did bring back memories - painful memories involving a witch doctor in his youth, a shaman in his early adult life, and a handful of fleeting exchanges that lead nowhere but stung nonetheless.

But not all were bad, and not all were lost in the past. In his mind’s eye, clear as day, he sees faded green fur, moss, and red flowers.

Vol’jin doesn’t let his mind wonder much nowadays, but sometimes he has no say in the matter.

He’d been lost in memory lane until he heard Tyrathan call his name, reminding him of the question that was left unanswered. 

“A handful of times.” Vol’jin had said, averting the human’s gaze “Nothing that be worth mentioning.”

That had been a lie. But if Tyrathan had seen through it, he was courteous enough not to push.

They spoke little during the rest of their match, and their day for that matter. Vol'jin left the infirmary after a monk came to relieve him, and immediately sought to busy himself with whatever tasks he could find.

That turned out to be dusting the shelves at a more unused room of the temple. Vol'jin threw himself at it, but here, alone, with Tyrathan’s words ringing in his head and nothing but a repetitive motion to keep him busy, nothing stands in the way of wandering thoughts. 

Vol’jin tries his hardest to cast them away, but eventually gives up. He gives up, and letting his body go through the motions on autopilot, begins to wonder.

His tribe, his friends, he wonders if they’re safe in his absence. Many had gone through much worse, but Vol’jin, so far away, has no way of knowing what’s happening to them. Hellscream could have had dozens of his Darkspear jailed or killed for all he knows.  


If Hellscream had attempted to have him murdered, he could have done the same to the others. He could have hung Baine’s hide on a wall in Grommash Hold, he could have pulled Thrall’s tusks out and strung them up in a necklace. He could have impaled Windrunner and her dark rangers on the spires of Orgrimmar, he could be wearing the heads of Lor’themar and his advisors on his belt. Hell, he could even have run the goblins and pandaren out of the city.

Tyrathan’s words ring in his mind again.

“Have you ever found love?”

A growl wells up in Vol’jin’s throat. 

Garrosh could have gutted him like a fish. He could have had him imprisoned and tortured. He could have had him torn apart limb from limb.

He could have been cast away, away from the land he called home and back to a people who’d have him killed.

The mere thought makes anger simmer in Vol’jin’s chest, hot as a fire, so he chooses to cast it aside.

His tribe wouldn’t let themselves be picked off by Hellscream’s forces. His friends wouldn’t let themselves be killed so easily. The Horde wouldn’t sit idly by and watch their so called Warchief kill at will.

Gheist wouldn’t leave his home and friends on a whim, not after he’d fought so hard to make his place among them.

Gheist wouldn’t leave Vol’jin on a whim, not after everything they’d been through.

Vol’jin had had him for years at this point, on and off over the years, never stable, but he’d always been there, and he’d be there when Vol’jin returned, alive and ready to fight by his side.

And when the fighting was over and they had time to themselves, Vol’jin would see about making it last.


	2. Deep Dive Atop A Mountain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we take a look inside Tyrathan's head.

_“You’ll be back, right?”_

_The question caught hìm off guard. He turned from where he stood, checking over his traveling pack, to see his youngest standing at the door, eyes shiny with tears not yet spilled. She was trying to put on a brave face, but he could see right through it._

_He felt proud of her, it was a very good attempt. He smiled and walked over, picking her up and holding her to his chest. The little girl held onto his shirt, looking him in the eye._

_"Don't worry, love. I'm not leaving you anytime soon."_

_"Promise?"_

_"I promise."_

…..

Even after almost dying here, the mountain overlooking the Shado-pan monastery was still somewhat of a safe space. 

Tyrathan climbed the trail every day. The healers told him to take it easy, _please_ , but as much as Tyrathan wanted to obey them, he also needed that feeling of safety the mountaintop provided.

Up here, away from everything, away from everyone, he could let his mind run free.

It wasn't exactly a pleasant experience. But at least no one would question him here.

He ran into Vol'jin on his way up, troll squat in the shade, eyes closed, and Tyrathan had a distinct feeling that he wasn't all the way there. One could only wonder what was going on in his mind.

He regarded the troll for a few minutes. He never thought he'd be face to face with the Darkspear chieftain, much less care (and be cared) for him. Had anyone told Tyrathan he'd be playing board games and having friendly talks with a Horde leader, he'd have laughed at the very least.

Yet here they were. Not even a week ago he had been asking Vol'jin about love, and he'd gotten an answer.

Not the one he expected, and he'd had a feeling that there was something Vol'jin wasn't telling him, but it was an answer nonetheless.

He wanted to know more, to ask more, but their friendship was still rather tenuous and interrogating the troll about his personal life was sure to cause more harm than good. He dropped the subject for the time being, stored in the back of his mind for a later date if he ever got the opportunity to bring it up again.

Why he was so interested in Vol'jin's love life was a mystery even to himself, one he wasn't particularly interested in solving and was happy to leave it be for the time being. 

Tyrathan intended on continuing up the trail without disturbing Vol'jin, so he did. He focused on the cold air and the crunch of the snow under his boots, not stopping until he turned a corner and found himself in his usual hangout.

The mountain sprouted a branch, a plane outcrop large enough for a small group of people, overlooking the training grounds below. A lone tree grew among the rocks, it's branches naked and heavy with snow, but sturdy and resistant against the harsh conditions of the mountaintop.

Tyrathan usually climbed higher up, but he found himself stopping here almost every time, either on the way up, down, and sometimes both. It was a nice place to rest or just watch the monks and their training.

He heard footsteps from behind, and looked over his shoulder to see Vol'jin walking up to him.

"Ah there ya be." The troll said, more to himself than to Tyrathan "I thought I saw ya walkin' by."

"I didn't mean to bother you." Tyrathan apologized "You looked lost in thought."

"Did I now?" Vol'jin murmured, coming to stand beside Tyrathan, who nodded "Huh."

Vol'jin looked him over, and Tyrathan returned the gesture, until the troll looked out at the training grounds, which prompted Tyrathan to do the same.

They stood in silence for a few moments.

Rather awkward moments.

Tyrathan decided that Vol'jin was probably not going to say anything,and seeing as he found nothing to say himself, he let his mind wander.

He thought about his home, the little town in the border of Elwynn and Duskwood where he'd grown up. Never having had much in talking of friends, he thought about neighbours and acquaintances, most of them good people who'd been nothing but kind to them. He thought about the old lady who lived down the street, almost out of town, the couple who lived by the market whose children had been friends with his for all their lives, the dwarves who'd set up shop there when Tyrathan was a boy and were still in business to this day. He thought about a dozen other people he'd met and saw often.

Then he thought about the Vanyst, and wondered what they were doing now. Lady Vanyst was probably blabbering away her daughters's ears, their husbands probably dreaming about power they'd never have. Bolten Vanyst should still be in Pandaria somewhere, barking out orders and scheming new schemes.

Morelan Vanyst was probably with Tyrathan's family, with his wife and children.

Every single one of them probably thought he was dead. His daughter was still too young to fully understand what death meant. She might be still waiting for him to come back, to keep his promise.

Tyrathan let out a loud sigh.

"Ya be the one thinking now."

Vol'jin's voice snapped him out of his reverie. He had forgotten the troll was there.

A fatal mistake had this been any other troll, in any other place.

As they stood, all Tyrathan did was shrug.

"Am I now?" He smiled, imitating the troll's tone and getting a real, genuine laugh out of him.

He felt oddly proud at that.

"Yeah ya be." Vol'jin nodded, squatting where he stood beside the man and looking out again "What be on ya mind, manthing?"

Vol'jin had started using the term more frequently sometime in the past days, but his tone carried no hostility. 

He felt odd at that too. But not an unpleasant odd.

Tyrathan thought over his words for a moment too long, but spoke before Vol'jin had the chance to.

"Before I left home, I made a promise to someone. Promised I'd be back." He said, eyes trained on the horizon "I thought it'd only be a couple of weeks away. It's been months now, and I don't even know if I want to leave."

Vol'jin made a noise in what Tyrathan assumed was agreement. Silence fell over them once more, stretching for a longer time than before until Tyrathan spoke again.

"I wonder if I even should go back."

"Shouldn't ya be keepin' ya promise?" Vol'jin asked, looking up at Tyrathan.

The man shook his head.

"I honestly don't know. Part of me feels like it might be better if I don't."

Vol'jin said nothing at that. Tyrathan eventually sighed again and turned to face the troll, having had stood side to side until now.

"It's nothing for you to worry about though." He folded his arms loosely across his chest, looking down at the still squatting troll "My promises are my own to worry about."

"If it helps ya case, I can relate." Vol'jin got up and stood straight, mimicking the human's gesture and crossing his arms.

Tyrathan. Did not expect that answer.

(He also did not expect to see Vol'jin stand at his full height. At that moment, he was reminded just how tall trolls got.)

This time he managed to talk without taking too long.

"You do?"

"Ya made a promise to go back to someone. I be making one too." Vol'jin nodded, then looked away frowning "I should be keepin' it. I have to, but…"

"But?"

"It feels like it be so far away now. I don't know how to explain it." The troll admitted after a moment in silence "It be like… like it be out if my reach."

Tyrathan got the impression Vol'jin was trying to reason to himself, but he was struck at just how well he understood the troll's words.

"I think I get what you mean." The man said, softer than usual, looking away as well "It feels like it's never going to happen. Like no matter what we do here, it won't matter to the world out there."

"Aye." Vol'jin sighed "Something like that."

Once again, they fell into silence. Only this time, it felt light, like neither of them needed to fill it with words, like neither of them had to say anything.

So they didn't.

Vol'jin and Tyrathan stayed together in silence until the wind started to pick up. Then, they made their way down the trail together.

…..

Even after almost dying here, the mountain overlooking the Shado-pan monastery was still somewhat of a safe space. 

The cold air, the elevation, being away from the monks down below and getting a reprieve from Taran Zhu's constant vigilance, even if just for a moment, it all gave Tyrathan a sense of safety he desperately needed.

Safety to be alone with his thoughts, to wonder about what was and what could be, with no one to offer advice he never asked for, no one to try and give him lectures and metaphors over the smallest things.

As much as he appreciated the pandaren and was grateful for all their help, the monks could be grating sometimes. It was their way of being - Tyrathan did not blame or resent them.

But having a break was nice.

Tyrathan climbed the trail every day. 

Now though, he made sure to look for Vol'jin on his way up.

The troll, he realized, gave Tyrathan a similar feeling of safety as being on the mountain.

And he made for much better company than a dead tree and the rocks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh lawd now we're kickstarting this thing :o
> 
> The next few chapters be alittle less static, I wanted to have the first ones to be slower for my own sake ;w;


	3. Something Old, Something New

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vol'jin reminisces about past things and wonders about future possibilities.

Vol'jin met Gheist in Zul'aman.

More specifically, he met Gheist off the road right in front of Zul'aman.

He was there with another troll and a blood elf, the three of them talking in hushed tones which fell silent upon his approach. Vol'jin recognized the troll as one of his Darkspear, a rogue if memory serves him right. The blood elf he didn't know, but she was fully decked out in plate armor and had Silvermoon's standard at her back, so he felt safe to assume she was part of their effort.

Gheist was a complete stranger. Everything about him was unfamiliar, but when Vol'jin and his siame-quashi approached he greeted them with the same respect as his companions, and when the group moved up the road into the Amani capital he stood at attention and ready to carry out orders.

His orders, apparently, were to secure the perimeter. Gheist skipped about the ruins in cat form along with some of Silvermoon's rangers (the troll and blood elf from earlier among them), and when their forces moved into Zul'aman proper, Gheist and his group followed in from behind. Halduron Brightwing told him, after inquiry, that he had designated the group to act as backup should the Amani send in more forces after the main force.

Halduron also told him, after they successfully claimed the city and laid waste to it's forces, that Gheist had come from nowhere else than the Plaguelands, looking more dead than alive if eye witnesses were to be trusted, and had stuck around the Ghostlands for a while now, doing little things here and there. That little tidbit of information piqued Vol'jin's interested almost instantly.

Which was the beginning of… whatever it was that they had today.

Vol'jin had often reminisced about the battles occurred both inside and outside Zul'aman, but now he actively sought out these memories, writing down as many details about the Amani's military strategies as he could - he knew he'd have to fight them again.

The Zandalari were an unexpected and unwelcome addition to a list of problems that was much too long already, but someone had to hold the line, and it seemed as though Vol'jin would have to be that someone even if it killed him.

Which, considering the odds, it probably would.

Well, at least he wouldn't go alone.. 

The days following the skirmish at Zouchin village blurred together. Before then, Vol'jin had had some sort of routine - wake up, breakfast, exercises, chores, lunch, more exercises, chores, dinner, meditation (or as close to it as he could get currently), bed. Wake up and repeat.

In between chores and exercises, Vol'jin found time to climb the mountain. Sometimes he spent his time there alone, often he found Tyrathan in the middle of the mountain. 

He cherished those times. Their talks took many different directions and spanned many different topics, and Vol'jin found he found the man's company genuinely pleasing. He was certain that when it came to it, Tyrathan would die at his side.

He only hoped it wouldn’t come too soon. He was loathe to admit it, but he was actually starting to have fun - his human's presence was grounding. Vol'jin was thankful for having that, and as a bonus, Tyrathan turned out to have a great tactic mind. Better than Taran Zhu at least. And much less condescending.

But Tyrathan wasn't here today. 

And the routine Vol'jin had fallen into had been upturned.

He still did the exercises - now more than ever he threw himself fully into them. But now his chores had been replaced by studying and strategizing, and his moments of peace with Tyrathan had only gotten fewer and fewer.

He hadn't seen Tyrathan today - and likely wouldn't for a while more.

He and Chen left to scout the surrounding region. They should return in a couple of days, hopefully with some information Vol'jin could use - information about the Zandalari's movements and goals.

That meant he'd have a little more to work with eventually, but it also meant Vol'jin was left to do most of the planning on his own, which was fine, he was used to it, but he found not having his human nearby was a huge distraction, one he couldn't afford to have.

"Your human?"

Vol'jin froze.

…

No.

Not his human. Not when he had a family waiting for him beyond the mist, even if, from what little Tyrathan had spoken of them, things were rocky.

And not when Vol’jin himself had someone waiting for him beyond the mist.

… did he though?

Hellscream's face flashed through his mind.

He could have had Gheist imprisoned and killed. He could have exiled him. He could have done a million terrible things all with the same result.

That was possibility number one - and Vol'jin thought it was the least likely.

Hellscream didn't know how close they were.

Very few did.

That was possibility number two.

Gheist could have gotten tired of them dancing around eachother. He could very much be still alive and well, but news of Vol'jin's supposed death should have reached far and wide by now, and he might have chosen to move on with his life.

That thought scared Vol'jin a lot more than any torture he imagined Hellscream could put Gheist through, and hurt him a lot more than he was willing to admit.

He cast it aside. There was possibility number three.

With Vol'jin gone there was no telling what his Darkspear were going through. There was no telling what Gheist was going through.

In the back of his mind, a faint voice was whispering, wondering, bringing along what ifs and what nots.

"What if," it said "You find him among the Zandalari?"

Possibility number three was Gheist seeking solace with the Amani. The forest trolls who had made their home in the Plaguelands had been allies to them once, and Vol'jin feared that, for whatever reason - prejudice, distrust, hurt - Gheist might have gone back to the Ghostlands and thrown in his lot with them, or even gone back to his tribe.

"The Darkspear are his tribe." Vol'jin thought to himself, but he found the argument lacking.

"Is it though?"

He didn't know what had lead Gheist to leave. He didn't know the reasoning behind him working with the blood elves for as long as Halduron had said he had been. He didn't know why Gheist had worked tirelessly with them to strike against Zul'aman, to ensure whatever dealings the Amani had with the Zandalari at the time didn't come to fruition, by all means ensuring the fall of his people.

He didn't know what caused Gheist to leave the Ghostlands once it was all said and done.

And he didn't know if he'd ever want to go back.

…

Vol'jin picked his book back up. It was an ancient monstrosity, thicker than his arm, detailing every single nook and cranny about the region of Kun'lai summit he had been trying to make sense of for the past hour.

He'd much rather have company. But for now the gargantuan geography book, the smaller ones open on specific pages he'd bookmarked for reasons he could no longer remember, and the many, many scrolls and pieces of parchment scattered around the tables in the library would have to do.

He didn't want to think about Gheist and what he could or could not be doing. So he didn't.

…….

Pandaria was a beautiful place.

Tyrathan had thought this when he first stepped foot in this land, clad in armor and the Stormwind tabard, following orders from a nobleman with way too much free time in his hands and way too many retainers to keep him safe in a foreign environment.

He thought the same now, skimming over roads and valleys and rolling green plains and beautiful forests, all dripping with history older than Tyrathan, older than all of mankind most likely. He tried his best to convey all the details and particularities of the land in his sketchbook through drawing and meticulous note taking.

He and Chen were on their own for the most part. It was better this way, he thought - fewer people to worry about and less chance of being seen by someone.

Because the man and pandaren were going in the direction people were running away from, they didn't run into anyone either.

Until one day, when they were setting up camp for the night, they were approached by a traveling rogue.

Or rather, Chen was approached by a traveling rogue.

Tyrathan had come out of the nearby woods with firewood when she saw her, a pandaren clad in dark armor, wearing her hair in a loose braid. She all but ran towards Chen when she saw him sitting by the fire.

Tyrathan kept himself out of sight, but close enough to hear what was being said. They spoke in pandaren, and he found himself very thankful for the monks back at the monastery having taught him at least the basics.

The rogue was asking if Chen had seen someone else on the road.

A very specific someone.

"A troll, with blue fur." She said, and her tone made Tyrathan think she was being intentionally vague.

"I've met many trolls matching that description." Chen answered, stroking his chin "But none on this particular road, or recently for that matter."

The rogue nodded, and asked Chen something else Tyrathan didn't catch, to which he answered with a simple "no". The rogue spoke again, and Tyrathan only understood a handful of words (something about a camp and information), offered Chen a short bow, and went on her way.

Tyrathan waited until she was out of sight to leave his hiding place and join Chen by the fire.

"I didn't catch the last part." He said, sitting down "What did she say?"

"She asked me if I needed any help on the road." Chen hung a pot over their fire to boil water "She must have thought I was one of the refugees."

Tyrathan nodded "And after that?"

"Her group has a campsite near the border with the Townlong Steppes. She told me to search for them if I needed any help or had any information."

Tyrathan hummed in response, and turned his gaze to the road the woman had followed. As Chen served him a mug of tea and they settled to sleep, he wondered who she was, and who she worked for.

Most importantly, he wondered who she was looking for. He had a pretty good guess.

Unfortunately for her, his guess was safe and sound behind the walls of the Shado-pan monastery, away from curious eyes.

Probably getting a lecture from Taran Zhu or cursing at an ages old book about the nuances and intricacies of pandaren smithing.

The image that thought brought left a smile on Tyrathan's face.

Vol'jin was so entertaining without even meaning to be - to Tyrathan at least. Watching the troll's antics was quickly proving to be the highlight of his days. 

He couldn't wait to go back to the monastery and see Vol'jin doing just that with his own eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little more information about Gheist and a teensy little more development for Tyrathan and Vol'jin. Sorry to have kept you guys waiting this long!
> 
> BTW here's a link to a headshot of Gheist I drew. It's not much but it's so you can have an idea what he looks like >>> https://frutavel.tumblr.com/post/624541162309566464/my-mans-getting-somewhere-nice
> 
> Thank you for reading! I'll try to post the next chapter soon :D


	4. Lost and Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrathan wishes for things he can't have, and Vol'jin begins his journey back to the Horde.

Pandaria was beautiful. It was peaceful. It was drenched in history older than anything Tyrathan had ever seen. It was full of secrets that had been left hidden for eons. It was surrounded by mysteries left undisturbed since the beginning of times.

It was a place worth fighting for. It was a place worth dying for.

The man found himself willing and ready to do both.

And he'd take as many enemies with him as he could.

They started for the Valley of Eternal Blossoms. He, Chen, five Shado-pan monks, a handful of grummle, and Vol'jin.

Tyrathan kept an eye on him specifically throughout all of their journey to the Valley.

The troll didn't do anything extraordinary or unexpected to attract such attention, but most often than not Tyrathan found his gaze turned to Vol'jin unintentionally.

It had been happening since before they left the Monastery. He didn't know what was the reason.

He didn't know what was that feeling deep in his chest he felt when watching Vol'jin do, well, anything either. He chose not to think about it.

When they reached the mountains surrounding their destination, they bid farewell to the grummle. Tyrathan saw them off with one of his arrows for each of them, and though it wasn't much, they lit up brighter than the sun upon receiving their gifts.

Later that day he learned that Vol'jin had given the grummle locks of his hair, and they were equally as grateful. He found that deeply amusing for the next couple of days.

Amusement that gave way to... something else when Vol'jin offered him a lock of hair, too. 

"I miscounted them. This one be a leftover." Was the explanation offered, but Tyrathan knew better. Vol'jin hadn't spent the past days commiting the names of the monks accompanying them to memory and trying his best to remember all their companions by to miscount the grummle now.

It was a deliberate act. Vol'jin had intentionaly cut off an extra lock of hair specifically for him.

Tyrathan wasn't sure how to feel about that, but by the way his cheeks flushed ever so slighly and his heart started beating faster, he had a pretty good idea.

Regardless of what his feelings were, they were quickly cast aside when the group came upon none else than Morelan Vanyst, nephew of Bolten Vanyst, Tyrathan's (former?) employer and reason as to why Tyrathan ended up in Pandaria in the first place, hanging from two tree trunks in the middle of a makeshift camp, being tortured by a group of Zandalari soldiers.

Tyrathan recognized some of the other prisoners in the camp as retainers of the Vanyst family, much like he had been.

He couldn't let them die.

And now that could very well have caused their plan to fail miserably.

They freed the men, but the Zandalari caltured him and his allies. Tyrathan and the pandaren were taken to the Mogu'shan by the soldiers - Vol'jin and the Zandalari woman, their leader if Tyrathan had to guess, took another route. Tyrathan, Chen and the monks were left in a courtyard, heavily guarded, but otherwise free to roam, and there they spent the night.

Tyrathan barely slept.

The next day they were put on a cart with other four - humans, the ones they had freed the previous night, meaning their rescue mission had been for nothing, but Morelan and Sister Quan-li were nowhere to be found, meaning they might have made it out of the Valley. 

Or that they had been killed in the proccess.

Tyrathan and the others were taken to a tomb, the tomb of one of the mogu warlords, and everything that happened next blurred in his mind. The loss of two of the men, and two of the monks, the resurrection of the mogu warlord, the trip to Isle of Thunder, their arrival there.

All the while Tyrathan looked to Vol'jin - what for, he didn't know, but seeing him there, with them despite everything, despite the obvious favor the Zandalari woman (Khal'ak, Vol'jin said) had shown him, despite the grim future that loomed ahead of them.

But he was wide awake and focused during their escape plan - the run from the dingy little prison cubicle they had been put on all the way to the port, taking down wave after wave of troll soldiers, finding the lone canoe in the port, setting the ships on fire, and rowing back to the mainland and back to the monastery.

He knew what Vol'jin had been offered. He knew the weight of his refusal.

He didn't doubt him for a moment.

Back at the monastery, he still didn't.

Taran Zhu gave the two of them and Chen the opportunity to leave. None of them did.

Pandaria was worth fighting for, it was worth dying for, and Tyrathan was ready and willing to do both.

Now all that was left to do was wait for it.

Wait and prepare.

Tyrathan's preparations included mainly squirrelling away every single weapon he could find and hiding them all over the temple. 

One of the monks told him that was getting ridiculous upon finding a dagger hidden in between incense boxes. Tyrathan just laughed at that, and threw in three more knives to keep the first one company.

Speaking of company, he found himself having it often.

Vol'jin ran into him often. Sometimes in passing, sometimes from afar, often he stayed, and sometimes they talked about this and that, sometimes they stayed in silence.

But they stood near eachother.

Eventually, respectable distances gave way to… less respectable distances. Brush of shoulders and accidental bumps turned into deliberate touches. 

Tyrathan began to actively seek Vol'jin whenever he could. He had a feeling Vol'jin was doing the same.

Such as today. Or rather, tonight.

The man took a break from shoving throwing knives in cracks on the walls, and found himself sitting outside, and there he stayed until the sun set and the stars began to twinkle up in the sky. It wasn't long before the troll joined him.

His troll, Tyrathan dared think.

They were silent at first, but soon that gave way to talk.

They spoke of everything and nothing, of the Zandalari they'd planned to kill, of lessons they learned in the monastery, and lessons they hadn't.

Tyrathan couldn't help but laugh when Vol'jin told him, angrily, of a story Taran Zhu had told him, which he hadn't understood the point of.

He only laughed harder upon seeing the offended look on the troll's face.

As expected, they drew closer over the course of the conversation, and Tyrathan ended up flush against Vol'jin's side, with the troll's arm laid over his shoulders, keeping him close.

Tyrathan realized then, he felt at peace - perhaps for the first time in his life.

Responsibilities, obligations, the threat of the Zandalari, in that moment those meant nothing.

It was just him, the troll at his side, and the starry sky above them.

They'd likely die in the coming days. They were thirty-three poor souls against an entire army, with no way of reaching help.

He found that thought comforting. 

He'd die in a beautiful land, fighting to keep it safe, surrounded by people he'd come to see as family, and with a troll he was starting to see as more than just a friend by his side.

But he wasn't dead yet, and his killers wouldn't arrive so soon.

He still had time. And he used his time as wisely as he could.

Tyrathan stayed glued to Vol'jin's side, finding comfort in the troll's company, in his words, his touch. Vol'jin, for his part, turned into a big blue puddle under Tyrathan's attention, so the man had plenty reason to believe he was having fun.

That was enough for him, Tyrathan enjoyed every second of these last peaceful days, and when it was time to go, he'd go with no worries, no hangups, and no need to worry about what came next.

But things were rarely that easy.

And death would have to wait for him a while longer.

…

Saying goodbye hurt worse that any of the hits he'd taken during the fight with the Zandalari.

(But not as much as seeing his human impaled on a wall had.)

Vol'jin had to leave. He had to go back to the Horde, to his tribe, he had to do something to stop the madness that was Hellscream before it consumed the whole world.

The man had to go back too, back to his family - a family who, from Vol'jin's point of view, had given up on him. For as much as he didn't fully understand Tyrathan's reasoning, he respected his decision, even if letting go of him was one of the hardest things Vol'jin had ever had to do.

The human had left Vol'jin with two things - one of his arrows, black, red and blue as always, which he'd told Vol'jin to save for Hellscream when it came to it, and Vol'jin had full intention to.

The other thing, was a lock of white hair - Tyrathan's hair. That was offered with no comment other than a smile and a wink.

Vol'jin would cherish that for as long as he lived.

And he'd miss Tyrathan.

He hoped they'd see eachother again in the future, and if they didn't, that at least time would take the pain of separation away, or at least make it fade a little.

But now, he had other worries in mind.

Like, for example, how to leave Pandaria.

He'd heard some Horde mages had stabilized a portal in a farming village in the Jade Forest, near where the Horde had first made landfall on the continent, but the journey would leave him exposed, there was no telling how many people would be there (and who they might be), and taking that portal would leave him straight at the gates of Orgrimmar - where he decidedly did not want to be.

Not yet.

He did not want to be that close to Garrosh and his forces now, when he was alone and unprepared, no. He needed another plan, and thankfully for him, Chen seemed to have one.

The pandaren was dead set in coming with him to Kalimdor, even if Vol'jin knew he was loathe to leave Pandaria and Yalia behind, and even though Chen had to know there was a high chance of him not living to see either ever again.

Still, Chen walked in confident strides, and Vol'jin followed closely, listening to his friend talk about their destination.

"I don't know if Tyrathan told you, but when we were out on our scouting mission we ran into a rogue looking for you." Chen explained, talking loud enough for Vol'jin to hear but not enough for anyone who might be listening "At least we think it was you. It was a pandaren, but she was clearly not from here."

Tyrathan had mentioned something about that, but with both of them convinced they'd die soon, Vol'jin hadn't worried too much about it. Chen continued.

"Well I did some asking, a little bit of digging, and I found her again. She works for a third party, and she was, in fact, looking for you."

"A spy?"

"I can only assume so." Chen nodded, looking back at Vol'jin over his shoulder "But I have reason to believe not for the bad guys."

They walked in the direction of the Townlong Steppes, all the while Chen told Vol'jin what he'd learned. The rogue and her group worked for a troll, not a member of the Horde, but striking up friendly relations with them, or at least so it was said.

"Apparently those turned not so friendly when Garrosh was named Warchief. Now, I don't know what business they had with your people, but knowing the current Warchief, and knowing it really is you they're looking for, I feel safe in assuming they'd like to see him out of power. I think they'll be able to help us."

Vol'jin felt like Chen's bet was risky, maybe too much so, but they had no other option, and waiting for one to show up would cause them to waste precious time.

He needn't have worried. They found the small camp exactly where Chen said it would be, inhabited only by a handful of people, mainly goblins, but also some elves and two or three pandaren. Vol'jin also spotted a troll out in the distance, a little ways away from the camp, perched up on a tall rock, most likely keeping a lookout. 

The ones closer to the ground were all friendly and respectful towards both Chen and Vol'jin - the former stayed behind to talk with another pandaren, Vol'jin assumed she was the rogue, meanwhile one of the goblins took Vol'jin himself to one of the tents, and he was relieved to find a familiar face waiting for him inside.

A sand troll, Mina if Vol'jin recalled correctly, dressed in simple robes, was sat on a fur in the middle of the tent, fiddling with a small box, which she put down immediately after seeing Vol'jin enter. She was known for trading rare goods and varying services, both which she had offered the Horde in the past, when Thrall was still Warchief, and Vol'jin had been present during some of their exchanges - she wasn't in any way unpleasant, but Vol'jin didn't know her enough to have any real opinions formed on her.

She signed for him to enter and he did. She nodded at the goblin who brought Vol'jin to her, and he left in a hurried pace. Mina got up, holding her hands in front of her lap, and though she kept a distance in between them, she showed no signs of hostility.

"It feels good to see you alive and well, Chieftain." She smiled at him, and though Vol'jin was wary of her type, he felt it was genuine "We have much to discuss."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taking a jump here because I headcanon the lads' relationship started out slow and then developed really fast :D
> 
> And just for clarification, we're never told how Vol'jin got out of Pandaland, so I'm using my characters to fix that. I'm probably gonna do it a lot during this story xD


	5. Sappy Interactions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vol'jin's returned to his people and is now expected to lead them, but at least he's not alone.

Having the title of Warchief laid on him was not in Vol'jin's life plan.

But then again, very few things that he'd lived through had.

Mina, the sand troll, helped Vol'jin and Chen stay under the radar in Pandaria, and had found ways for them to contact possible allies. She'd heard the rumors about his death, and didn't believe it to be true, so she took a handful of her subordinates with her to Pandaria to look for him.

"Nobody could tell what killed ya. Some said it was murder, others said ya was killed fightin' an enemy of the Horde, a few others said it was Alliance, there was even a handful o' blabbermouths who said ya just disappeared." Mina had told him during dinner, casually as though she was talking about the weather "Until I had a concise story I be assumin' none o' the ones we be hearin' were true." 

"And looking at ya here, standin' tall as he last time I be seein' ya, I do believe I be right in doin' so." 

When the time was right, Mina herself opened a portal for them, which left him nowhere else than Sen'jin Village.

Vol'jin hadn't noticed how much he'd missed Durotar before now, taking in the sea breeze and seeing all the familiar faces of his tribe, his people, light up upon seeing him, alive and breathing and there, with them. From then on, it was time to start a rebellion.

And rebel they did.

It was astounding to think he'd been in the throne room of Grommash Hold not an hour ago, watching Taran Zhu lead Hellscream through a portal, to Pandaria, to then strike up a fickle, word of mouth truce with the Alliance.

They'd have to address that formally at a later date - most likely after Garrosh had been tried and sentenced.

Hopefully to rot in a jail cell for eternity. It was the least he deserved.

For now,Vol'jin was getting settled. He knew Grommash Hold like the back of his hand, he'd been here many times in the past and knew almost every nook and cranny. He was now in the office room, Thrall and Saurfang both with him, sorting through Hellscream's various documents. The help was greatly appreciated, as was the company.

After about two hours, Thrall suggested they take a break.

"There's still quite a bunch of things to look over." He'd said "Exhaustion will do us no good."

The two orcs left the room, closing the door behind them. Vol'jin looked out the window - the sun was setting, and it would be dark soon.

He got up, stretched, and left the office. He entered the private rooms - his rooms now - ready for sleep.

And found he was not alone.

"Welcome home."

Nothing could have prepared him for the rush of feeling that hit him upon seeing a certain Mossflayer druid, sitting cross legged in the fur rug by the lit hearth, pieces of discarded armor in a little pile by the couch and an ornate scythe laid over his lap. His lips curved around his tusks in a lazy smile and he had a warm look in his eyes that made Vol'jin feel way too many feelings at once.

He smiled back, the first genuine smile of the day.

Gheist had been missing from the scene since Vol'jin returned, but upon inquiry master Gadrin was quick to assure him the druid was alive and well, just away. He couldn't tell Vol'jin where he was or why he left though, but in between organizing his rebels and negotiating with the Alliance and all preparations he had to oversee, Vol'jin hadn't been able to do much more than wonder.

And worry.

Part of that worry stayed now, both Gheist's arms were bandaged and his armor was splattered with blood, as was his scythe. His chest was bare and Vol'jin saw a handful of still healing cuts on his stomach and one particularly ugly gash on his right shoulder still dripping blood.

He seemed unbothered by his wounds and looked to be otherwise fine, if not tired. Gheist's smile widened and he set his scythe aside, then raised his arms up in Vol'jin's direction. 

As if on autopilot, Vol'jin threw himself into him, careful not to aggravate the wound on Gheist's shoulder, and happily settled into the larger troll's lap. Gheist wrapped both arms around him and Vol'jin let out a sigh.

"Where were you?" He mumbled against his neck, to which Gheist replied with a shrug and a tighter hold.

"Heard ya be comin' back and gettin' ready for some action." Gheist leaned back enough to bump his forehead against Vol'jin's "Thought it be bettah ta take care o' things in the sidelines and let ya focus."

"Ya shoulda come to me." Vol'jin sighed again, closing his eyes and leaning more into Gheist's touch "I missed you."

"Missed ya too."

They spent a few precious moments in silence. The exhaustion from the battle and the days prior starting catching up to Vol'jin, and just as he was about to drift off to sleep, Gheist started laughing.

"What?"

"Be honest, Thrall did ya dirty."

Vol'jin groaned at that, which only caused Gheist to laugh harder.

"He be trustin' me to keep things in order." Vol'jin shook his head, sighing. Gheist made a noise that was a mix between a huff and a grunt.

"Nah mon, he did ya dirty. He not be wantin' his job back." Gheist said, mock stern, but there was a smile on his face as he drew away, letting go of Vol'jin to lean back against his hands "I get him though, if I be in his place I not be wantin' it either."

"It be hard work but someone has to do it."

"Well I canna think of anyone better than ya ta do it. Last time mister Savior of Azeroth be in charge he caused a tyrannical maniac."

"Guess I can't do worse than that." Vol'jin chuckled. He didn't blame Thrall for Garrosh's actions, but he knew where Gheist was coming from.

Speaking of…

"Did ya do okay? While I wasn't here?"

Gheist shrugged again, and though the smile disappeared from his face he didn't look sad or angry.

If Vol'jin had to pick a term, he'd say ashamed.

"I guess. I… I didn't react very well when… when they told me ya had died."

Vol'jin was caught off guard by that. It must have shown, because Gheist was quick to continue.

"I figured it was because o' Garrosh, it had to be. I stayed on the Echo Isles for a while, tryna get the idea that ya weren't gonna come back through to my head, and when it did I... I went after those Kor'kron in the Barrens and..."

Gheist took a deep breath and jerked his head in the direction of the scythe, laid beside him on the rug.

"...I did some reapin'."

He fell silent after that.

Vol'jin burst out laughing. 

Gheist let out a few huffs of laughter as well, he still looked a little nervous, but by the time Vol'jin calmed down he seemed to be fine. They fell silent once more, a comfortable silence, and Vol'jin leaned over to press his forehead against Gheist's the same way the forest troll had done to him earlier.

"Don't tell me ya got a scythe just ta make that joke."

"Nah. It was a gift, I didn't pick it." Gheist shook his head "But it worked pretty well, didn't it?"

"I suppose it did." Vol'jin leaned back, arms still wrapped around Gheist's neck "Did it work for ya "reapin'" as well?"

"Perfectly."

Vol'jin nodded. Gheist brought his hands to Vol'jin's waist, and hid his face against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry I not be comin' ta see ya sooner." Gheist sighed, closing his eyes. Vol'jin shook his head.

"I wish ya had, but I get ya. It be okay."

He felt Gheist nod against his shoulder and they fell into silence again. Vol'jin yawned and was almost asleep when suddenly he found himself jostled into a bridal carry.

"None o' that, Warchief. Ya need ta get some proper rest, but we gonna get ya out of ya woods and into somethin' comfier first."

"I can walk, ya know." Vol'jin rolled his eyes, but offered to more protest. He let Gheist carry him into the bedroom and help him out of his armor, and then he found himself being tucked into bed with Gheist essentially wrapped around him.

He was perfectly content with this arrangement. 

As of now his future, their future, was still uncertain, and Vol'jin didn't really know what to do, but at least his first night as Warchief of the Horde wouldn't be spent on his own.

He drifted off to sleep, comforted by the sound of Gheist purring and lulled by the steady beat of his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lord I love writing romancey things so much
> 
> Tyrathan should get the spotlight next. Prepare to see me shove yet another one of my OCs in the story to keep him company while he's away from The Lads ^^


	6. Back In Business

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrathan returns to his home and family, and tries to live his life as normal - along the way, he makes a friend (?)

Returning to Elwynn had been nostalgic.

And by nostalgic, what Tyrathan really meant was unbelievably stressful.

He supposed it couldn’t have been different, seeing as he was, in a way, returning from the dead. The elderly couple down the street sure did seem to think so, by the way they very quickly turned tail upon seeing him.

He did however, manage to get back home without any major incidents, and found that the stress he’d been and would be under for the foreseeable future was all worth seeing his family again. 

Well, at least it was worth seeing his children again.

They were so happy to see him, and the feeling was mutual - though he felt unfit to parent, the thought of never being able to see his children again had eaten away at him every day, and now he never wanted to let them go.

With his wife, it went a little rougher.

He’d missed her, of course, and he could tell she missed him - or at the very least, was relieved to see him alive and well - Elanora was a good person, she was sure to have worried about him while he was away.

Before they told her he had died that is. He didn’t know how she took the news and he wasn’t sure he wanted to.

But, when he showed up on their doorstep, she had given him a hug and a wide smile, with a warm look in her eyes that stayed up until they’d put the children in bed and still lingered when they’d woken up the next day.

Tyrathan should have talked to her then - tell her everything he’d been thinking back in Pandaria, try to settle things with her in a way that wouldn’t harm either of them or their children, discuss everything that was wrong - but he didn't.

The most he’d done was tell her they’d need to have a serious talk soon, to which she replied with a sigh and a nod, before giving him another smile and going on her way.

Family woes (somewhat) settled it was time for work related woes - meaning it was time to talk with Bolten Vanyst.

Who was, much to his surprise, entirely happy to see Tyrathan alive and well.

“Spared me lots of trouble, it does!” He overheard the nobleman say to one of his sons in law, and to be perfectly honest that took much worry out of Tyrathan's mind. It meant Bolten hadn't changed one bit since last they saw each other.

And the trouble Tyrathan’s re-appearance had apparently saved Vanyst from was a dwarf.

“Lord Vanyst hired her to take your place after you disappeared.” One of his fellow retainers told him “She made it clear from the start it was only temporary. Not that I think he’d have kept her around too long anyway, you know how he is.”

Bolten Vanyst wasn’t too fond of non-humans - in truth, he wasn’t fond of anyone who didn’t have any sort of political importance he could eventually exploit. Tyrathan was certain that a traveling dwarf hunter was not the kind of person Vanyst would want to keep in his business.

And that's how Tyrathan found himself for the next few days. Vanyst gave him his job back without hesitation, but he had a couple of days off - mandated most likely - so he had the opportunity to meet his temporary replacement.

Her name was Arhena Rustmane, the tallest dwarf Tyrathan had ever met (tall enough to ride a horse, she'd proudly announced), but otherwise perfectly ordinary. She, like him, was a marksman, and from what he'd heard, a very good one.

He spent as much of his free time with his children as he could, and failing to sit down with Elanora to have that talk, but when he went out for whatever reason he usually found Arhena waiting for him. Apparently Vanyst had asked her to "help him back into the swing of things" - which, to the nobleman, probably meant coaching him back into work as soon as possible, but she turned it into friendly conversation and occasional snack breaks. He didn't mind, she was good company, and if nothing else Tyrathan was curious about her.

She wasn't particularly chatty, but she was far from being the silent type. Tyrathan asked her questions about the most varied topics, some of them involving her life and she answered everything with detail, occasionally adding up to things he hadn't even asked. Tyrathan thought she probably did that to fill the gaps in between conversation.

During their talks, Tyrathan learned that Arhena was born in the Hinterlands, but had come sto Elwynn from Dun'Morogh (she asked him if he’d ever been there, to which he replied exactly once, a long time ago). She was engaged to a human paladin living in Redridge, and Arhena had been on her way to see her when she passed by Tyrathan's village. One of the Vanyst's retainers had told her the nobles were looking for someone to fill in Tyrathan's position and she decided to take the shot.

"They told me all sorts of things 'bout you, it’d be a shame if ye had really kicked the bucket." She had said during one of their first meetings "It's good tae see ye alive, lad. And it's a pleasure tae meet ye after all!"

Tyrathan was surprised to learn she had been to Pandaria when the Alliance first stepped foot there, but had to be sent back due to an injury (she hadn't specified what it was, and Tyrathan didn't ask, but she wore a crop top out one day and he saw a very big scar cutting through her stomach - and it looked fairly recent).

He caught hints, in between topics, that his fellow hunter had dealings in shady places - he didn’t want to poke too deep into that, and she never said anything explicitly, but he kept his suspicions in mind - not that he’d snitch on her, Tyrathan knew the nobles he worked for had far more dirt under their name that Arhena could ever dream of.

And so the days passed. Eventually Tyrathan started working for the Vanyst again, almost going right back to the routine he’d had before Pandaria, he managed to keep his relationship with Elanora and their kids stable (he still had to have that talk with her), and he was somewhat able to reconnect with all the people he'd known that had thought him dead.

Arhena stuck around the village even after Bolten Vanyst signed her resignation papers, doing odd jobs here and there. They ran into each other less often now that Vanyst wasn't asking her to follow him around, but they did meet occasionally - brief meetings, nothing longer than a wave and a hello most often than not, but she seemed to be doing well.

On one such occasion, he and some of the other employers of the Vanyst had gone to the local tavern for a get-together, and he found Arhena there, on her own. Never having been a big drinker, he'd left his already drunk colleagues to their devices and sat down with her to talk. She had been delighted to see him, and they went over many different topics in the short time he was there.

One topic in particular caught Tyrathan off guard.

It was something she'd casually went over, but that stuck to Tyrathan's mind like glue. She mentioned something about Stranglethorn, he told her of the time he had spent there with his troll guide (and briefly wondered what Karen'dall might have been doing now), and after a swig of her drink she pulled out a little wooden amulet from her pocket and slid it his way.

"Trolls are a funny people, they are." The amulet was shaped like a miniature version of the wooden masks Tyrathan had seen some of them use, hanging from a reddish leather cord. It had seen better days for sure, but it was obviously well cared for.

"One of 'em gave me this, way back. Said it'd keep me safe." She had a fond smile on her face when she spoke "I'm still alive today, and I’ve been in lots of trouble, so I guess it works."

Arhena then put her amulet back in her pocket and changed topics. Tyrathan followed along but later that day when he'd gone home he was still thinking about what she'd said.

From her tone Tyrathan got the feeling the troll who gave her the amulet was someone she held in high regard. By the time he'd gone to bed he decided he'd ask her more about that story when they met next time.

… which never happened, because the very next day Tyrathan was informed Arhena had left for Redridge.

"She got a letter from her lady, just after dark." The innkeeper told him "Packed her things and set off before the sun had even risen."

Tyrathan, sent a silent prayer to whatever might be listening, hoping everything was okay with both Arhena and her fiancee. While he did that, the innkeeper pulled an envelope from his vest’s pocket, blank and sealed with one of those colorful gnomish stickers Tyrathan had seen some children play with, and handed it to him.

"It's good you swung by though, she left this for you. Saves me the trouble of sending someone down there to deliver it!”

That was… unexpected. He’d thanked the innkeeper, pocketing the envelope, and though curiosity had gnawed at him for the entire day, Tyrathan didn't touch it again until after he'd gone home for the day.

Inside the envelope was a sticker sheet (the stickers were covered in glitter and smelled like fruit) and a very brief, straight to the point letter. 

Tyrathan gave the stickers to his youngest daughter, who then proceeded to carry the sheet around like it was a treasure, clearly excited but being very careful while showing it to her siblings and mother. The remaining letter was folded in half, written in thick, blocky letters, the same signed into Arhena's resignation (he was in the room when she signed, and he was the one to hand it to Vanyst), but instead of the usual black this letter was written with a sparkly blue ink.

_**I'll be in Redridge for the next few days, but I might swing by Stranglethorn later this month - I’ll write to you when I know for sure. If you're feeling nostalgic and if you'd like to join me, let me know.  
~ Rustmane**_) 

The innkeeper explicitly said it was left for him, but Tyrathan’s name was nowhere on the page - he wondered if she’d done that intentionally, or if that was how Arhena wrote all her letters.

"What's that about?"

Tyrathan jumped a little at Elanora's voice, not having heard her come in - she was leaning over his shoulder, probably having read the letter as well, and the look in her eye more curious than anything else.

He sighed and shook his head, folding the letter and putting it back into the envelope "An invitation I think."

"Oh, what for?"

"Probably a hunt. I don't know for sure." Tyrathan said as he got up. Elanora nodded with a pensive hum.

"Are you going to take it?"

"Probably not." Tyrathan shrugged, deciding he’d like to help his daughter find tplaces she could put her new stickers on “I think I’ve been away long enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel a little sorry for shoving my OCs everywhere in this story but at the same time I know they'll be important later so please bear with me ;w;
> 
> I stole Elanora's name from Vandera's work, hope you don't mind ^^


	7. The One With The Cats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vol'jin has two cats and two love interests. The cats are way easier to deal with.

Gheist really liked cats.

He liked the big ones, with their loud roars and sharp claws and teeth that could rend flesh, the ones who prowled in the shadows to strike at unsuspecting prey - he turned into one of those occasionally (oh the joys of druidism), and though he felt a kinship with them, the big cats weren't exactly his favorites.

No, Gheist's type of cat was the small one, the tiny little creatures who hide under beds and swat at your feet, who knock things off tables simply because they can and nobody has any power to stop them, the type that purred and climbed on the roof at two in the morning to scream their little lungs out for loa knows what reason and then climb back down and act as if they hadn’t woken up an entire neighbourhood.

Gheist’d had a habit of feeding stray cats for almost as long as Vol’jin knew him, and he could now identify at least five different ones that always hung near Gheist’s home in the Valley of Spirits. Gheist found endless joy in their shenanigans, and though they could be a handful as house cats usually are, over the years Vol’jin found he was fond of the little bastards - if for no other reason then just because seeing them bap at each other or run into a wall made Gheist laugh himself to tears, and just being able to cause such a beautiful reaction was enough for Vol’jin to put the cats on a pedestal.

Two of the cats, Freyja (siamese, or at least she looked like one) and Thor (yellow tabby, lovable idiot) were closer to indoor cats then their fellow felines, and Vol’jin knew both of them very well - even better now considering they had somewhat moved into Grommash Hold.

Gheist had apologized when he saw them in Vol’jin’s room for the first time - apparently having followed him there - but Vol’jin just laughed and waved it off as a one time thing.

They showed up occasionally on the days that followed, always when Gheist was there, but then someone in the Hold made the mistake of feeding them on the one day the two showed up on their own, and now they refused to leave. The duo was somewhat well behaved and didn’t cause much trouble, mostly they just slept the whole day and jumped out the windows at night to do… whatever it is cats do, so Vol’jin decided he didn’t mind them being there too much.

Other than the unexpected addition of Thor and Freyja to his life, things settled down - Vol’jin easily slipped into his new routine, and in contrast to the upheaval his life had been just a few weeks prior, it was now falling dangerously close to monotony.

Thrall came to visit quite often, as did Rokhan, and as always their company was welcome - Thrall’s mostly, he brought with him pages of advice on how to be Warchief and though Vol’jin was getting used to the position, he welcomed any and all help he could get.

The cats certainly helped make things more interesting, but for sure the best distraction Vol’jin could ask for came in the form of their owner, slipping through the window of the office room at random times of the day and almost always staying the night. Saurfang told him multiple times to just use the door like a normal person, but Gheist insisted on the window.

“I gotta know if it’s safe for these two, High Overlord!” He’d explained one day, holding up Thor like a little fluffy baby “They use the windows all the time, I be needin’ ta make sure nothin’s gonna hurt ‘em.”

At that, Saurfang had just let out a long suffering sigh at that and left. He didn’t touch on the subject again, and Gheist continued using the windows as his main form of entry to Grommash Hold. Vol’jin wasn’t sure what he’d said about the cats was true, but knowing him it could very well be.

Gheist had taken up work with a local healer for the past month (Sparkflare, he'd heard of her before), to act as an assitant if Vol'jin recalled the details correctly. He usually disappeared an hour or two before midday, and came back sometime around late afternoon - on a calm day that was, he took longer shifts often. Whenever he was in the Hold Gheist stayed close to Vol’jin when he wasn’t busy, and sometimes even when he was, but Vol’jin didn’t mind, because being near Gheist was a better energy boost than anything else Vol’jin knew of.

Overall, Vol’jin thought things were good - they were almost done cleaning the mess Hellscream had left, and once that was done it was a matter of simply going forward - the first thing on his mind regarding that forward was try to solidify a peace with the Alliance, and that would surely bring about many more worries and difficulties, but as of now things were fine.

… well, mostly.

As his main concerns and more immediate troubles faded away, Vol’jin found himself with a nagging worry that grew each passing day - and all its possible implications for the future.

He hadn’t heard of Tyrathan in a while.

The last time Vol’jin saw the human was in Pandaria, when said human was still recovering from the spear wound. He’d gotten two or three updates since then, but that had been almost a month ago.

Stranded in Pandaria, with no hope of leaving the continent alive, it had been so easy to just close his eyes and pretend whatever happened between him and Tyrathan would stay a secret. Why fear consequences that would never arrive? Neither he nor the human were going to survive, and Vol’jin was ready for whatever it was the loa dished him on the other side.

But now here he was, alive, with the very real possibility of facing the consequences he thought he’d evade.

Vol’jin wanted to know what Tyrathan was up to. 

He’d love to lie to himself and say he didn’t know why, but he knew the exact reason was because he missed the human and he wanted to know if he was alright.

He had no idea how to proceed about that however.

His situation with Gheist before the whole assasination attempt thing, as cliché as it sounded, was complicated. On and off and on again, coming close to something resembling stability only to fall apart, both of them coming and going as they needed and never making anything official - they still hadn’t as far as Vol’jin as aware, but he wanted to change that, because Gheist deserved better and now more than ever he wanted the druid in his life for as long as he could have him.  
At the same time, he’d like nothing more than to see Tyrathan again.

Back then it was (or at least if felt like) different when for all Vol’jin knew and cared he’d never see Gheist again - he missed him , dear loa he missed him way too much, but being sure he’d never see him again had put a halt to whatever plans and ideas he might have had concerning their relationship, but this was now, and now he had no idea how to conciliate what he wanted with either of them.

His best strategy so far was just ignoring that problem and trying very hard not to think about any actions he could or couldn’t take and the consequences of both, but still the thought had been eating at him for the past week, and it resulted in delays on his part, which then resulted in late nights working on everything he’d missed, like now - the sun had set hours ago and as far as he could hear most of the city had settled down for the night.

Meanwhile Vol’jin was here, in his office, trying hard to focus on the numerous documents he had to go through while dealing with his feelings and an incoming headache.

Funny enough out of the three the headache seemed like the least of his concerns.

“Hey.”

Vol’jin jumped at Gheist’s voice, looking over his shoulder to see the druid leaning against the doorframe, a tired smile on his face.

“Hello.” Vol’jin smiled back, the druid being a sight for sore eyes, and his smiled widened when Gheist let out a laugh.

“I have possible bad news.” He said, walking to stand right beside Vol’jin.

Vol'jin's smile dropped and his eyes widened upon seeing Gheist holding out a little circular locket - unlike the usual ones, the halves weren't joined together, and they currently hung a ways away from each other by the chain.

"Freyja knocked it out of ya nightstand and I don’t know if it be broken or if it be supposed to open like that so...”

"... sorry in advance if it broke." Gheist handed him the locket, and Vol'jin turned it over, already knowing that no, it wasn't broken, but…

"Oh and this fell outta it."

… there, nested neatly in Gheist’s palm was a little braid of white hair, which was supposed to be inside the locket.

The lock of hair Tyrathan gave him in Pandaria.

“Not to go pokin’ my head where it might not be wanted but what’s this?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes the cats are a very important addition to the story they're not just so I can get my word count up no sir-


	8. Heartache and Heartstrings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which conversations are had, and things are somewhat settled.

Stalling would do him no good.

Lying was out of the question. Gheist didn’t deserve that.

So Vol’jin found strength to swallow the lump around his throat, and talk.

“Ya know… ya know how I be stuck in Pandaria for a while?” He asked, and at Gheist’s nod, he forced himself to keep going.

"Well, in Pandaria, I met someone."

"Yeah?"

"Aye… an' I got that from him."

"Huh."

…

The nonchalant response was… unexpected.

Maybe this wouldn’t go as sourly as Vol’jin had expected.

Except.

“Didn’t take ya fo’ the type to take hair of all things as a trophy.”

The mere thought of taking anything from Tyrathan as a trophy made Vol’jin’s blood boil, but he forced it to cool down, because Gheist didn’t know any better.

“Not exactly a trophy, it was given ta me.” He said, and then he was at a loss for words. Gheist filled in the silence for him.

“Oh, ya made a friend there then?”

Oh, the temptation to go along with that idea was great. Though it wasn’t a habit Vol’jin himself had, he knew Gheist did keep locks of hair from some of his closer friends, and he could very well weave a story about his close friend from Pandaria, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie.

Gheist didn’t deserve that, and neither did Tyrathan, wherever he might have been at the moment.

And Gheist noticed his hesitation, and he looked a little crestfallen.

“Vol’jin?”

Merciful loa he sounded even more crestfallen.  
“...”

“...I think… it be more than just a friend.”

Silence dragged on between them, thicker than the mists that had hidden Pandaria away for so long.

"...oh."

Vol’jin had been through a great deal of pain in his life.

His trials to become a Shadowhunter, all the trials he’d faced alongside the Horde, losing friends, betrayal, an assassination attempt, seeing Tyrathan stuck to a wall by a spear and seeing his life slipping away, it had alldealt a great deal of pain, it had all hurt.

But hearing that little “oh”, looking up, seeing the smile disappear from Gheist’s face and the curious look in his eyes be replaced by an entirely different emotion hurt more.

Neither of them said anything else, and the returning silence was nothing short of suffocating.

…

“This…” Gheist started after what felt like an eternity, and he sounded shaky, to say the least “...where’s… what happened? To them?”

“He left Pandaria, last I heard.” Vol’jin managed to keep his voice from wavering.

“And ya… ya been talkin’ to him?” Gheist asked, and that made Vol’jin halt, and he took a deep breath before he gave an answer.

“No. And I don’t think I can.” 

Gheist didn’t say anything in return, and Vol’jin knew he wanted an explanation. Vol’jin was loathe to know the only one he could offer was probably not what Gheist expected.

“He… he had a family, waitin’ for him. Said things weren’t too great, but he wanted to try an’ settle things with ‘em.” Vol’jin felt Gheist’s gaze on him, but he couldn’t look at the druid.

“I… I wanna know how that went.” 

“... why don’t ya ask him, then?” Gheist asked, and his tone was much softer than Vol’jin had expected - it was almost soothing, and it made it easier for him to continue.

“I don’t think I can…” Vol’jin shook his head, and then turned to look at Gheist “He be human-”

The words died in his mouth.

Gheist had suddenly gone, very, very still.

And he stayed that way for entirely too long.

...

Then, just as suddenly, he dropped the lock of hair he’d been holding onto during the conversation on the desk, turned tail and walked away.

“Where ya goin’?” Vol’jin asked before he’d left completely, and Gheist didn’t even look back at him.

“Out.”

“Ghei-”

"Ya kinda just dropped a Theramore sized bomb on me." Gheist stopped by the door, and Vol'jin cringed at his wording "I need to think about stuff. And I don't… I don't wanna be near ya while I do."

With that, he was gone.

Through the door.

And as he looked to the closed and untouched window, Vol’jin realized how wrong things had gone.

…

Vol’jin didn't see Gheist again for the remainder of the day. 

He had a feeling he wouldn't for a while more.

But when Vol'jin settled down for the night, he found the cats up and about in the room, Thor sitting on the windowsill and Freyja happily loafed at the foot of the bed. When she saw Vol'jin she meowed loudly, and leaned into his touch when he sat down to pet her.

Vol'jin wasn't a big expert on cats, and he didn't know if either of them even knew how hurt their owner was, but as of now none of them seemed to hate him, so he felt there was a chance Gheist didn't either. A small chance, and Vol'jin thought he didn't really deserve to have it, but it was there.

Vol'jin fell asleep that night holding onto a little cat loaf, and hoping that neither she nor her sister would be gone in the morning.

………..

The cats were still there when Vol’jin woke up.

Gheist was not, and like Vol’jin predicted, he stayed missing for the remainder of that day, and the next one, and the one after that.

And a couple more after. 

Vol’jin stopped counting after the fifth day, because keeping track of how long he’d been gone did nothing to alleviate his worries.

Worried that Gheist had gone out and gotten himself in trouble, that he’d done something stupid, that’d he left Vol’jin behind for good, that he left Orgrimmar and maybe even Durotar entirely, that he might be anywhere from the Barrens to Stranglethorn or who knows where else.

Just when Vol’jin was about ready to go out into the city and look for Gheist himself, the very druid he’d been so preoccupied about showed his face, by unceremoniously climbing through the private room’s window just as the sun was setting, and speaking before Vol’jin had fully registered he was even there.

"What's the name?"

"Gheist-"

"Don't." Gheist took a step closer, looking Vol'jin in the eye "The man. What's his name?"

Vol'jin considered arguing. He really did.

But he was tired, and he had a headache, and worry was eating him alive, so he didn't.

"Tyrathan. Tyrathan Khort."

Gheist nodded, leaned up against the windowsill, and let out a heavy sigh, and nodded again, eyes closed, arms crossed.

“Alright, here be what we’re gonna do.”

He pointed at the couch.

“Ya gonna sit ya ass down there, and ya gonna tell me this story straight, and then ya gonna shut up and listen to what I be havin' ta say about it.” Gheist said, and the tone in his voice left no room for argument.

So Vol’jin sat down on the couch, and he watched while Gheist came to stand in front of him, and at the druid’s cue, he spoke of everything that happened since almost dying in a cave in Pandaria to when he came back to the Horde.  


He told Gheist everything that transpired in the Monastery, the fight against the Zandalari, in as much detail as he could remember, and he told Gheist about Tyrathan, how they started, and how they parted ways, and everything that happened in between the scenes.

He finished by saying he hadn’t had any updates on Tyrathan in a long time, and that he didn’t know where the human was now or what he might be doing.

All throughout Gheist was very silent, but hanging on to every word, every expression, every shift of posture, reading in between the lines and catching the things Vol’jin had left unsaid.

It was quite disturbing at times, how well Gheist could read others.

He asked one or two questions during the explanation, and then Vol’jin was done, and Gheist didn’t say anything else. 

It felt like an eternity before the silence broke, and it broke with Gheist letting out the most defeated sounding exhale Vol’jin had ever heard.

“Just so ya know, I had a whole speech planned.” He huffed out a laugh, a rather pitiful sound, and then he looked away, out through the window into the city outside “But I forgot half of it by now.”

“I… can’t really be mad at ya.”

That caught Vol’jin off guard.

“I been slackin’, ever since I met ya I be slackin’.I left ya hangin’ so many times, I don’t get why ya stuck out fo’ me all this time.” His posture sagged, and it took every ounce of Vol’jin’s being not to talk back, because what Gheist had just said was an absurd, but he’d promised to stay quiet, so he stayed put “I love ya, I loved ya all this time, and I want ya ta love me back, I try my best to give ya a reason ta love me back.”

“And because I love ya, I want ya ta be happy.” Gheist continued after a brief pause, and it was Vol’jin’s turn to pay attention "And, if ya human makes ya happy… " Gheist looked him straight in the eye "... well, there’s not really anythin’ I can do, is there?"

“Ya make me happy too!” Vol’jin said after a beat of silence, and he got up from the couch and he walked over so he stood in front of the druid, and he took a gentle hold of Gheist’s tusks so he’d look at him “Everytime I have ya, with me, now and before, it be the happiest I ever been.”

He leaned forward and bumped his forehead against Gheist’s, who let out a sigh and wrapped his arms around Vol’jin, and the relief that flooded Vol’jin’s system was almost enough to make him lose his footing.

“I want ya here with me, as long as ya wanna stay.” Vol’jin sighed, stepping back just enough so he could look at Gheist as he continued “But I canna lie to ya. I miss Tyrathan.”  
“I… I kinda get ya on that.” Gheist answered “From what ya told me ya two be leanin’ pretty heavy on each other back there.”

“Leanin’ is a way ta describe it I guess.” Vol’jin looked away, but a smile tugged at his lips when he heard Gheist laugh.

“Hey.” Gheist tapped his shoulder, and Vol’jin turned back to him, and he had that warm look in his eyes that the Warchief loved oh so much, and a hint of that smile that tugged at his heartstrings “I know this thing we have be kinda messy, and I know I haven’t done very well-”

“Stop that, ya be doin’ amazing.”

“-but I hope it be good enough for ya to love me, just as much as I be lovin’ ya.” Gheist bumped their foreheads together again, gentler than he usually did, almost uncertain, and Vol’jin had to hold back a laugh.

“More than enough.” Vol’jin said, closing his eyes and leaning into Gheist’s touch “And I be promisin’ to be lovin ya, for as long as ya will have me.”

“I promise the same.” Gheist tightened his hold, and after a moment of silence he stepped back, now looking very serious.

“I’ll be with ya for as long as ya want me.” He looked Vol’jin in the eye, and took Vol’jin’s hands in his own “And I don’t know how ya gonna solve this thing with ya human. I don’t know if I even care.”

Vol’jin chuckled, and he was about to reply when Gheist gently knocked one tusk against his own and continued.

“I don’t know how this gonna play out, but if ya ever be hearin’ back on ya human, and if ya want him just as ya want me, and if he be wantin’ ya back, he gonna have ta learn ta share ya.”

“And I be learnin’ ta share ya just the same.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woop this one was so hard to write I had no idea how to proceed but! I am quite happy with how it turned out" Hope you like it too!
> 
> Look at the bois actually talking things out - a rare occurence sadly, they're both idiots.


	9. A Troll on a Quest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite what he'd said earlier, Gheist suddenly finds himself caring very much about the whereabouts and wellbeing of Tyrathan Khort.

The next couple of days were rather peaceful.

Somewhat.

Gheist had said he wouldn’t care about how Vol’jin settled things with the human man, but the truth was he did. He saw the worry in Vol’jin’s frame getting more evident each day, and he knew the Warchief was trying hard to balance his responsibilities and his personal concerns, which he was sure wasn’t easy work.

And in between all that Vol’jin still made time for him. And the cats. Gheist applauded the commitment, and he fell more in love with Vol'jin each day.

And it was because of that love, that he decided he did in fact care about Tyrathan Khort, and that he decided he’d do something about him. If nothing else the maybe he'd be able to get a little bit of worry out of Vol'jin's mind.

He just didn’t know what.

And so, he sought advice from the wisest person he knew.

Taraya, the half troll Gheist worked with, was one of the Horde’s finest healers, and he still couldn’t really believe she’d picked him of all people to help her. They’d been friends before, and he knew she trusted him to work and do things correctly, but still, she was good, and Gheist felt that maybe a little too good for him.

But, the good thing about working with someone as good as Taraya Sparkflare, was that he was always able to ask her things, and almost always get an answer.

“You need to talk to someone in the Alliance?” She asked after he’d told her just that. They were cleaning and organizing some tools in her clinic, after a longer than usual shift had left things a little in disarray.

“Yeah. It be kinda important too.” Gheist answered, picking fur off a pair of tweezers “Any ideas?”

“Mmm, none come to mind.” Taraya shook her head, focused on arranging the already clean tools in a tray “I don’t suppose you can just walk up to them and talk.”

“That’d probably end badly. For everyone involved.” Gheist offered her a smile, which she returned, but then she frowned and looked away.

“Yeah probably.” She said, and turned to him again, lowering her volume “I’m not gonna question, but you know it can end up bad even if you don’t see eye to eye.”

“Why?”

“Because of the redhead in the Hold.” She started, keeping her voice low, as if not to let anyone hear - even though it was just the two of them in the room.

“People don’t really know who you are, but they see you going to the Hold every day. And if word gets out you’ve been talking to Alliance folk, it might end up putting the two of you in danger.”

“I’d give up on that quest if it was you.” She finished, straightening some of the tools in her tray. Gheist had no answer to that, so he stayed quiet, and went back to cleaning the tweezers.

She was right. Even though he was doing it for Vol’jin’s sake, others would probably not see it that way. Not without the context only the two of them had, and not without knowing Gheist’s intentions.

“Zantari might be able to help you though.” Taraya said eventually, breaking Gheist out of his reverie.

“Huh?”

“Zantari. Last I checked he had friends on that side of Azeroth. Good friends.” She continued, shurgging “Asking doesn’t hurt. The hard part really is finding him. And I got you covered on that front.”

“You do?” Gheist was impressed. Tari had been his friend for a long time now, and he had no idea where the hunter was half the time - apparently, nobody did, not even his family, if Tari’s sister exasperated words were to be believed.

From Gheist’s personal experience, they were.

“Saw him off just a few days ago, after you and the Warchief had your scuffle. You were busy moping.” Taraya said while she finished arranging her tools, then carrying them off carefully, putting the tray into a shelf by the wall “I caught him just off the zeppelin tower. Dragged him here for a check up before he could disappear again.”

“It wasn’t a scuffle, it was a misunderstanding.” Gheist replied, putting down the now clean tweezers and picking up a slightly bloodied scalpel “Well, kind of. Where did Tari go?”

“Ratchet. He said he’d stay there for a while, but who knows how long that’ll be.” Taraya turned to look at him, and jerked a thumb at the door “Better run if you want to catch him. I don’t know how long you have before he leaves.”

Gheist looked at Taraya, then at the door, then he put down thescalpel and got up, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze as he walked past her.

“Thanks Tar. I’ll be back to finish those things.”

“Don’t worry about that, go.”  
…

And he went.  


Through the window of course, much to Taraya’s amusement.

But before he went any further, Gheist swung by Grommash Hold to pack some things, and tell Vol’jin where he was going - he hadn’t done that very often in the past, and that was something he intended on changing.

So, once he had everything he needed, which really was only a couple of snacks and first aid supplies just in case, he burst into the office, where Vol’jin and Saurfang were discussing something. Probably boring or political, or both.

"I'm going to Ratchet. Oh, good morning High Overlord!" Gheist announced as he came in. Vol'jin and Saurfang both looked up from where they had been skimming over papers to see the other troll, scythe in hand and a backpack strapped to his shoulder.

"Might I ask why?" Vol'jin tilted his head to the side in confusion. Saurfang said nothing, but he had a curious glint in his eye.

"To see Tari! You remember him yeah?" Gheist happily answered stepping closer to the desk. 

Vol'jin did, in fact, have a vague memory of Gheist’s friend, a flash of orange hair and something about crocolisks, but nothing more. He nodded, and Gheist lit up like a bonfire.

"You may want to take someone with you." Saurfang said, crossing his arms "Just to be safe."

"I have Akil’zon as my guide and Nalorakk watchin’ over me.” Gheist shot Saurfang a beaming smile, crossing his arms “I appreciate the concern, but I be alright.”

Vol’jin had to admire the faith Gheist put in his loa. Saurfang on the other hand, was not amused.

"I'm serious, boy. That port is full of opportunists." The old orc said in a reprimanding tone, shaking his head "You may not be officially a public figure, but people’s tongues have been wagging."

“...have they?” Vol’jin asked, genuinely curious. He hadn’t been out in the street much lately, and no one in the Hold had mentioned anything about that - not to him, at least.

“They see this one climbing in and out of your window every day.” Saurfang answered with a curt nod “What did you expect?”

Vol’jin turned his head to look at Gheist, who only shrugged in response.

"Their problem. But don't worry, I be careful.” The druid placed his hands on his hips and nodded at the Overlord “Plus, walkin’ ‘round with bodyguards probably gonna get attention. I be thinkin’ I be safer on my own.”

He turned to the window and opened it, then looked over his shoulder.

“See ya tonight!”

Gheist then winked and left, leaving the window opened behind him.

…  


Ratchet is a cozy little town, Gheist thinks.

It’s smaller than most port towns he’s seen, less crowded too, and overall safer. Definitely easier to navigate than Booty Bay, for example, and in Gheist’s personal opinion, better managed. He’d heard that Gazlowe always had a talent for running things smoothly.

He found Tari a little ways away from the main hub, sitting on the edge of a sandbar by the docks, legs swinging over the edge. An orange raptor was curled up beside him, sound asleep, and when he got closer Gheist saw the other troll was watching a mossy green crocolisk happily swishing away in the shallow water below.

“Hey you!” He greeted, and Tari looked up and waved. His raptor awoke and let out happy little chirps as a greeting of her own.

“Hello Dragon lady.” Gheist bent down to give her a little scritch, and then turned back to the other troll looking up at him.

“Tar told me ya been down these days.” Tari said, and Gheist sat cross legged beside him.

“Yeah.” The druid, sighed “Vol’jin and I had a… misunderstanding.”

“Ya better?” Tari drawled out, and if Gheist didn’t know any better he’d think the hunter was scared of asking.

Knowing Zantari for a long as he did, he knew that wasn’t the case. Tari was a caring individual at his core, but he often ditched out a method of caring that was closer to curiosity than anything else.

“Yeah. We talked, it’s okay.” Gheist nodded, more to himself than anyone else, and Tari hummed in response, and then he let out a little laugh.

“What?”

“The two o’ ya finally goin’ somewhere. It’s nice.” Tari smiled, leaning back on his arms “Can’t do better than a Warchief. I be happy for ya.”

“Thanks. I’m happy for me too.” Gheist smiled, and smiled wider when he heard Tari laugh, and let out a laugh of his own.

They enjoyed the silence then, a comfortable silence joined by the hustle and bustle of the city behind them and the lapping of the waves below, and the happy noises of a crocolisk having a good time.

“Hey, can I ask ya somethin’?” Gheist said after a few moments, and turned to look at Tari, who nodded with a smile.

“Ya gonna ask anyway.”

“Right.” Gheist rolled his eyes “Ya know people in the Alliance, don’t ya?”

Tari didn’t answer that.

But the relaxed atmosphere between them shifted, and he pointedly looked away, and Gheist saw his fur rise.

“Relax, I not gonna snitch on ya. Not that I think Vol’jin be carin’ anyway.” He waited until Tari looked back at him, and it felt as though his eye was boring a hole into Gheist’s entire being.

“And where this conversation be goin’ then?” The hunter asked, and there was a little hint of something in his voice that Gheist didn’t like.

“Quit it with the scary guy attitude, nobody’s gonna come get ya.” Gheist shook his head “If I asked for help finding someone, would you help?”

“...depends.” Tari relaxed a tiny bit, and it was enough to make Gheist beam once more “Who ya lookin’ for?”

“A human.” The druid was happy to answer, head tilt to the side in thought “A hunter, just like you.”

“...can I ask why?”

“Well I don’t know, why did you decide to be a hunter?”

“No no, why ya after a human?” Tari smiled again, and Gheist felt the conversation was going in a good direction again.

“He’s… got something to do with Vol’jin.” It was Gheist’s turn to look away, though only for a brief moment “That’s all I’m gonna say.”

“Why, don’t trust me anymore?” Tari asked in a teasing tone, but Gheist felt as though there was a hint of truth to his word. He also did not like that feeling.

“Of course I do! But… it’s complicated-”

Tari gasped, an exaggerated and overwhelmingly fake thing that Gheist couldn’t help but laugh at.

“Too complicated to tell your friend what’s going on?!” Tari looked away, and now Gheist was certain he was joking “Oh, if you knew how much that hurt...”

“Why are you upset, ya never tell about anythin’ either!” Gheist retaliated, a wide smile on his face “And you’ve been like that ever since I met ya.”

“...fair enough. Ya owe me though.” Tari sighed, looking out into the sealine “Imma go see an Alliance person in a couple days. Can’t promise anythin’, but if ya Warchief has anything to deliver, ya bring it ta me before then and I ask her.”

“When’s ‘in a couple of days’?”

“A couple. That’s at least two.” Tari shot him a smirk, and fond exasperation took hold of the druid “Ya know me better than ta expect set timeframes.”

Well. He wasn’t wrong.

“Does ya human have a name?” Tari asked after a beat “Makes the job easier, y’know.”

“Tyrathan Khort.” Gheist answered. Tari nodded, they stayed silent, and then Gheist added “If I had to guess, I’d say somewhere around Elwynn.”

“Vol’jin tell ya that?”

“No.” Gheist shook his head “Just a feeling.”

Tari’s crocolisk started growling, and the two of them looked down below to see she’d left the water and was now trying to climb the sand bar, with little success. Tari chuckled, got up and stretched. The raptor followed suit.

“Alright. I’m gonna rescue that one-” He jerked his head down in the direction of the crocolisk “-and then I’m gonna take this other for a walk.”

He pet the raptor, who chirped happily at the attention, and then Tari turned back to Gheist.

“I’ll wait a little extra time for ya. Just a little.” Gheist nodded, and Tari continued “And then we’re gonna see if ya feelin’ be right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The man's determined  
> I tried not to add too many of my OCs in here but then I remembered this is my self indulgent happy fic so enjoy my children being useful for once!
> 
> Tari's tag for reference >>> https://frutavel.tumblr.com/tagged/oc:zantari
> 
> A messy pic of Taraya for the curious >>> https://frutavel.tumblr.com/post/632619008231882752
> 
> And a Gheist I drew the other day just for the heck of it >>> https://frutavel.tumblr.com/post/634254626836922368
> 
> (his eyes don't glow like that on a day to day, it's just for the Cool Effect)
> 
> Hope you had fun! Should be Tyrathan's turn to get some attention in the next chapter!


	10. Making Bridges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arhena doesn't like baby carrots.

“... what did ya just say?”

They had been at this for a while now. It started when Gheist returned from his trip to Ratchet, covered in dust and tired but seemingly happy. Vol’jin had chalked that up as his druid being happy to see a friend, but then the next morning Gheist practically woke him up asking if he was still thinking about Tyrathan.

Vol’jin had admittedly been a little scared of answering that, but he wouldn’t lie to him, so he said yes. Gheist seemed very much pleased by that answer, knocked their tusks together, and then they were forced out of bed by the impatient meowing of two cats demanding to be fed.

A little while later after they’d had breakfast too, Gheist’d come into Vol’jin’s office and asked him if he’d like to talk to the human. To which Vol’jin answered with a yes, and then the druid disappeared into the private room, leaving a very confused Warchief behind.

And now, just before midday, right after Saurfang had left, Gheist had showed up in the office again with a look in his eye that was nothing short of determined, and asked him the question.

“If ya could write a letter to ya human, and if ya knew it was gonna be delivered, would ya?”

There was not a single trace of mirth in his face. Quite the opposite, that was possibly the most serious Vol’jin had ever seen Gheist.

“How would I know it was gonna get delivered?” Vol’jin asked finally, and Gheist looked away.

“Not important.”

“Gheist.” Vol’jin started, a little harsher than intended, so he softened his tone “What did you do?”

“Oh you quit it with that act.” Gheist snapped back, and though he sounded a lot more playful than anything else, he still looked fairly serious “Nothin’ yet. And I’m afraid we not be havin’ a lotta time for me to do it.”

“So if ya want ta write ya human a letter, ya better do it before our time runs out.”

“Why the time be runnin’ out?” Vol’jin asked, shaking his head “Where this all be comin’ from?”

“Because I don’t know how long before the delivery guy leaves.” Gheist crossed his arms, straightening up “And this be comin’ from me wantin’ ta help ya solve ya human problem.”

“Ya said ya didn’t care for him.”

“Well I changed my mind!”   
“Why?”

“Because ya care about him, and I care about ya, so that makes me care for him by default!” Gheist sighed, as if reluctant to admit that “Plus, I see ya worryin’ about him on the daily, and it’s not doin’ you any good.”

“Gheist, I appreciate your concern.” Vol’jin said, and he really did “But this not be a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t even know if Tyrathan even be wantin’ to hear from me.” Vol’jin frowned, looking away “He had his family to worry about.”

“And another thing, how are you gonna make sure anything I write gets ta him?” He looked back at Gheist, who had stepped closer to him “Who’s the ‘delivery guy’?”

“Does it matter?” Gheist shot back, and before Vol’jin had a chance to answer, he continued “Vol’jin, ya want ta talk ta ya human. Ya want ta know how he’s doin’ and I have a way for ya ta do just that.”

“Trust me?”

Vol’jin looked Gheist in the eye. 

He didn’t know what he was looking for, but all he found was eagerness, determination.

Love.

He smiled and took Gheist’s hands in his own, pulling him down so he could press their foreheads together.

“I trust ya.”

Gheist leaned into the touch and immediately started purring.

“Then write ya letter. When ya done, I send it on it’s way.”

……

On the back of a horse, strolling through stone paths placed ages before she was born, surrounded by ruins and jungle, with nothing but her thoughts and the sounds of the wildlife around her, Arhena thinks Stranglethorn Vale is the most beautiful place in Azeroth. It colorful, and vibrant, and so very much alive. Filled to the brim with secrets, and bloodthirsty animals, and aggressively territorial trolls who’d kill her on sight should she come too close to their villages.

Truly a magical experience.

She had swung by the little Village on the border of Elwynn on her way here, a slight detour but she wanted to see whether Tyrathan would take her up on her offer or not.

He’d been worried about her and Camilla, her fiancee, when she knocked on his door, which she thought was very sweet of him, and she was sure to assure him nothing bad had happened. Camilla had written to let her know she was moving out of Redridge, to Stormwind City, and Arhena had rushed to meet her there.

Tyrathan seemed relieved to hear none of them were in trouble, but tensed up when she asked him if he wanted to join her on her trip to Stranglethorn - he’d refused, saying he didn’t want to stay away from his children anytime soon.

His youngest, a lovely little girl with dark hair, had given her a hug and thanked her for the sticker sheet. She could see why he didn’t want to leave her.

So she’d come on her own, making her way down the thick jungle as best she could - which was pretty well, considering how many times she’d walked this same road before. She strayed clear of the troll settlements, stayed as far as she could from the ogres roaming the ruins, and made a stop just shy of Grom’gol Base Camp - only distant enough so the Horde guards patrolling the area don’t see her.

Or at least so they don’t see her as a threat.

She gets off the horse and gives him a few good pets for being such a good boy. Magnus, the horse, chuffs happily at that, and then he wanders off to explore - Arhena lets him. He knows his way around this jungle, from all the trips she’s taken here since she got him, and she knows he won’t go far. If he does, well. He’s strong enough to break a tiger’s skull in half, he’ll be fine.

Arhena sits down on a fallen tree log, and keeps watch over the Horde’s base. She sees adventurers coming in out of the open gates, but none of them are who she’s looking for.

She’s looking for a troll, with light blue fur and orange hair, missing an eye and accompanied by a raptor and a crocolisk. While she waits, she pulls out the wooden amulet that very same troll made for her from her pocket, and takes a moment to study it.

The paint’s chipped away in some parts, and a bit of the wood splintered off at the top, but it’s inevitable considering how long she’s had it. The dwarf takes very good care of it, because to her the amulet is just as precious as the engagement ring Camilla gave her - and that’s her most precious belonging.

Not because of the ring itself, but because it came from the woman she loved.

Much like how the amulet had come from one of her dearest friends.

Arhena smiled to herself, and looked back up to Grom’gol - still no sign of Tari anywhere…

“Ya still have that old thing?”

… unless she hadn’t seen him coming.

“Of course I do, it was a gift!” She looks up to him, standing just behind her, a lazy smile on his face, and then she holds up the amulet so he can see it clearly “Plus, ye said this was tae keep me safe, and a wee bit of safety doesn’t hurt n’one.”

“If ya think that.” Tari steps over the log and sits down next to her. Arhena looks around and finds his raptor, Dragon, standing off just a little ways away from them, sniffing something on the ground.

“Where’s Mango?” She asks, noting the distinct lack of crocolisk in their surroundings. Tari shrugs.

“Wasn’t doin’ too good, I left her in the Barrens with Zabre.” He answered “Where’s Magnus?”

“Exploring. Ye know how he is.” Arhena smiles wide, gesturing in the general direction the horse went “He’ll be ‘ere soon. How’s Zabre?”

“Still in the Barrens, still doin’ shaman things.” A fond look shadows Tari’s face, and his smile widens “How’s Camilla?”

“Doing good, she’s staying in Redridge for a while, helping the local folks.” Arhena has that same fond look on her own face now “I was with her just a day ago!”

They spend the next hour like this, catching up, wondering about people they know only by word of mouth and never met face to face, but come to care for because of their relation to the other. Arhena hopes that one day she’ll be able to walk up to her fiancee and their friends with Tari in tow and formally introduce them, and she also hopes that maybe one day Tari will be able to take her to meet his siblings and friends as well.

“Varian’s a hot head through and through, as we know.” She says, which prompts a chuckle out of the troll “But he’s not unreasonable. And from what I heard neither is ye Warchief. Maybe the two of them will be able tae work somethin’ out for us.”

“Maybe.”

Tari was quiet then, a little too suddenly for Arhena’s comfort. She scooted a little closer to him and gently pushed at his shoulder.

“What else ye have for me, lad?”

“Arhena.” He started “Ya ever hear about a Tyrathan Khort?”

The dward let out a little noise of surprise.

“I did! I worked with him for a little while, very interesting man, he is.” Arhena nodded to herself, recalling the few days she spent in the company of Tyrathan Khort “But how did ye hear of him, lad?”

“A friend asked me to deliver-” Tari took his backpack off his shoulders and dug around in it for a moment, before he pulled out an envelope from within “-this.”

He handed it to Arhena, and she looked it over. Blank, with only a simple wax seal, which she wouldn’t dare break, as it wasn’t for her eyes, but the wish was there.

“And how did your friend hear of ‘im?” She asked after a beat of silence, looking up at Tari, who shook his head.

“‘I have no idea. And he wouldn’t tell me anythin’ either.”

Tari looked so genuinely offended at that statement that she couldn’t help but laugh. Once that was over, she looked back down at the envelope, trying to find anything that might give away it’s contents without having to open it. It was most likely a letter, but it could really be anything - she’d seen mages turn powerful artifacts into the most mundane and unassuming objects.

But those had needed mages to turn them back to normal. And Tyrathan was no mage, so probably a normal letter...

… unless!

"Can ya deliver it for me?"

"Huh?"

"The letter. I don't know where the guy lives and I probably can't get anywhere near him without a guard tryin' to kill me." Tari said "They'd fail, but I rather not be gettin' to that at all. Ya don't have that problem, and ya be knowin' this Tyrathan. Can ya deliver it for me?"

Arhena thought.

And she thought for a little more.

And came to the conclusion she had no reason not to do Tari this favor. She'd have to pass through Elwynn again eventually, and if nothing else then she'd maybe find out what was written in the letter…

"I'll make you that carrot cake you like-"

"Deal!" Arhena got up in a flourish, pocketing the envelope with the utmost care “But don’t you come at me with those baby carrots ye like!”

“They be tastin’ the same as the big ones!” Tari also got up, and promptly followed once he saw her walking away “No, come back ‘ere this discussion ain’t over-”

Arhena smiled, a wide genuine smile - they’d had the carrot discussion many, many times in the past, and she hoped they’d get to have many more.

She’d take the letter to Tyrathan, no matter what type of carrot was in the cake. But before that, she’d spend some quality time arguing with Tari about it, like she intended on doing when she came to Stranglethorn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is almost all OC stuff and I'm not even sorry, ya'll signed up for this ^^
> 
> Also I don't know if I shared this before but here's a little bit of Arhena, with pics! >>> https://frutavel.tumblr.com/post/631366889752363008/

**Author's Note:**

> Join me as I try to remove this self indulgent mess from my head and put it in words!
> 
> I'm out of practice writing long stories, english is not my first language and nothin I write is beta read, I apologize in advance for any oddities! Thank you for reading, hope you stick around for more :D


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